


Pencil and Paper

by regenorakel



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Silly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-30
Updated: 2014-05-30
Packaged: 2018-01-27 14:23:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1713797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/regenorakel/pseuds/regenorakel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>So I took the opportunity to make something funny into something not so funny. Here's what prompted me:<br/><img/></p>
    </blockquote>





	Pencil and Paper

**Author's Note:**

> So I took the opportunity to make something funny into something not so funny. Here's what prompted me:  
> 

Stiles discovers he likes to draw. It's quite a sudden realization, one warm Thursday evening that has proven to be particularly unfruitful in terms of googling. The sheet of paper Stiles had ready to jot down notes is littered with random shapes, none of which he _remembers_ doodling.

One of them looks like the tail of a wolf, so Stiles adds a furry body, a face with long fangs protruding from the muzzle, and red eyes. And judgemental eyebrows.  
  
A little while later he starts keeping a sketchbook in his backpack. Doodling around in it feels calming, and he takes it with him whenever possible. He knows he's not exactly a gifted artist, but it doesn't matter. He likes drawing, deal with it.

Drawing portraits seems extremely interesting to Stiles. Every line, every shade, every curve of a person's face make it complicated and wonderful at once. He decides he needs models. Granted, his choices are a little limited, but he tries.

Portraying Scott turns out to be much harder than anticipated, especially because of his famous uneven jawline.

Trying to convince Lydia to let him portray her is met with a cheerful "No, thanks" and a door in the face.

Stiles soon finds he would really like to draw Derek, but asking him is out of the question, so Stiles tries to draw him from memory, which frustrates him endlessly.

"Night, dad!" Stiles yells in the general direction of the sofa as he makes his way from the bathroom back to his bedroom.  
"Night, kid," his dad replies, sounding half-asleep already.

Stiles flicks on the light in his room and a yelp escapes him at the sight of a dark figure lurking outside his window. The shock wears off quickly, though, when his eyes adjust and he realizes it's actually just Derek perching on the windowsill.

"Motherfreaking werewolves," he mutters and goes to open the window. Derek raises an eyebrow, but jumps into the room as soon as there's enough space and dusts off his pants.

"Thanks," he says and of course, because Stiles' life is actually a supernatural dramedy, his eyes land on the sketchbook. Which is lying on Stiles' bed. Open. On a drawing of Derek's face. Derek's eyebrow rises a little higher.

Stiles scrambles to pick the thing up, close it, shove it under his covers, throw it out the window, whatever, just get the drawing away from Derek's judgemental face. Derek beats him to it and flips through it while Stiles lands face-first on his bed and groans in defeat.

"I swear I'm not a stalker," he tells the comforter as the silence stretches on, only interrupted by the rustling of the pages as Derek examines Stiles' amateur work.

"Since when do you draw?" Derek suddenly asks and Stiles peeks at his face, which he finds to be surprisingly non-judgemental after all.

Stiles gets back up and comes to stand in front of Derek, who is now looking at a sketch of his own face in profile. Stiles shrugs.

"I just noticed I liked doodling a while ago and that I wasn't actually a complete failure at it, so I never stopped after that. I don't know. Can I have that back now, please, for the sake of the very tiny bit of dignity I have left?"

Derek raises both his eyebrows at Stiles, who just mirrors the motion. After another beat, Derek flips the pages until he finds a blank one and thrusts the sketchbook into Stiles' arms.

Stiles frowns as Derek wanders over to the bed and lies down on it sideways, supporting his head with his right hand and arm.

"What the fuck are you..." Stiles begins to mumble, but is interrupted by Derek.

"Draw me like one of your French boys, Stiles," he deadpans and Stiles laughs so hard he has to fumble around in his backpack for Scott's inhaler.


End file.
